At his words Ruth turned and glanced at him sharply, with a puzzled expression on her face which I could not account for, as she stared at him uncomprehendingly, but as the full meaning of his words dawned upon her, she turned her terrified eyes in my direction.
"Carlton," she said, and she raised her right hand solemnly, as though I were the judge before whom she was taking an oath, "I am innocent of any crime. In God's name, tell me you do not believe me guilty!"
She caught my hand and drew me down so that she could see my face.
"Ruth," I replied—it cost me an effort but for her sake I strove to speak quietly—"when I found you in the study I was startled, but never once have I believed you guilty, and now I know that you are innocent."
She released my hand and settled back in her chair with a sigh of relief. As long as I knew her innocent what mattered what anyone thought, was her attitude. But, alas, it was not I but the jury she would have to convince.
"Mrs. Darwin, I should like very much to have your version of the events of last night," said the coroner, and his voice was very gentle as he addressed her.
"Ruth," I interposed quickly, "be careful what you say." I was in mortal dread lest she incriminate herself beyond redemption, and yet I knew her to be innocent! Explain the paradox as best you may. I could not.
"Well meant, but ill-advised," said Mr. Cunningham. "Your best plan, Mrs. Darwin, is complete frankness."
Again that strange puzzled look on Ruth's face as she turned toward him, then as if his words found an echo in her own heart, she looked once more toward me and said simply, "Yes, Carlton, why shouldn't I tell him all since I am innocent?"
I groaned and mentally anathematized the coroner for his choice of counsel. I was powerless to help her in the face of her guileless attitude and evident inability to realize the danger of her position.